


Fathers, Daughters, Mothers, Sons.

by Sarielle



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Also Mom!Garnet kinda, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, I fell in love with all the minor characters, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Mom!Pearl, Neurodiversity, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Nightmare Hospital, Psychotic & ND Ronaldo, Single Parents, Trans Lars, Trans Male Character, aka my pride and joy my moon and stars, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5719210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarielle/pseuds/Sarielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short character studies about the parents of Beach City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fathers, Daughters, Mothers, Sons.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this fic has so many headcanons! If something about a character hasn’t been specified in show I’ve gone with a mixture of fanon (Lars being trans and of Asian descent, Onion is Autistic etc.) and personal headcanons (Ronaldo and Peedee’s mother is Brazilian, Sour Cream’s first name is Martin and so on.)
> 
> It’s kind of implied in the text but if isn’t clear lăoshŭ means rat or mouse in Mandarin (I asked a friend, I’m not a speaker myself). The Hindi from Dr Maheswaran’s drabble is from the internet. Didi means older sister, jaan or jān is a term of endearment kind of like ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ that can be used between friends, family or lovers. I hope it’s not too clunky or contrived. 
> 
> Any non-canon names are of my devising. Amberjack is Yellowtail’s surname after the fish and Vidalia I tossed up between making Onion’s first name George to reference the place Vidalia, Georgia but I've left it ambigious. Lars’ Mom and Sisters are OCs, same goes for Eva Fryman. I originally had both a Kofi Pizza and a Sadie and Barb drabble but they didn’t really go anywhere. 
> 
> As always kudos and comments are much appreciated. Any questions on headcanons or anything from the fic can be directed to my tumblr! 
> 
> \--Sarielle (trustme-im-a-pirate)

**Greg Universe**

There was a safe in his van that held every page, every letter he ever wrote his mother and never sent. Enclosed were photographs that showed a timeline progression of starry-eyed kid with ripped jeans and a ponytail, four years of travelling from tiny town to town, truck stop joints and music hall gigs. Living off t-shirt and CD funds from week to week, hot dogs and instant ramen on a camping stovetop in the back of his van.

Then came the cheesy posed Christmas cards, a young man (minus the ponytail) and a big radiantly beautiful pink woman. More than ten years of happiness there until one year the woman disappeared from the photos and they turned to pictures of a curly haired little boy with chubby cheeks, a grandson that Mrs Universe would never see.

He stopped sending letters somewhere in the mid-90s, years after she had stopped responding, but he never stopping writing. Every memento he kept for her, just in case. He never forgot where he came from.

Some nights he could still hear her last words to him the night he left in his car. They hung in his ears as he drifted off to sleep, still cutting deep nearly 30 years later.

“If you leave this house young man don't expect to come back.”

She’d been so sure he was throwing away his life by not going to college and maybe she had a point. His dream didn't lead him to riches and wonder, but still he believed everything happened for a reason and leaving home led Greg to the greatest wonder he could ever hope for: his Rose.

His older sister, Sarah was more forthcoming with letters, they wrote a couple of times a year. She had kids of her own too, two little girls, younger than Steven. Greg and Sarah always made empty promises to meet up when they were in the same state as each other but life, and the two of them had other plans.

Greg wouldn't know how to behave around his sister these days anyway. He'd left her a naïve, big-hearted teenager, eighteen years old with nothing but a car and a guitar to his name and the stars in his eyes.

Now he was older and wiser, though some things never changed he still loved music and he still wrote songs to pass the time. It helped that he had a decent pay check from his short-lived musical career, enough to keep Steven fed and clothed while he used his own income from the car wash to pay for rent and his storage container in town.

He’d spent holidays in the past with his aunt and uncle who lived just out of town. Janice and Owen were like second parents to him, they always checked he was safe and fed and that he had enough money to survive the week. They’d adored Rose like a daughter and his aunt Janice had been a pillar for Greg to lean on when Rose left behind baby Steven in her wake.

 Now they were both gone too, leaving their farmyard property to Greg with a big red barn filled with years of their aeronautical engineering bits and bobs, none of which he had the heart to sell. He missed them, dearly.

 He wished he had someone to talk to about Steven. Just somewhere to air his fatherly concerns about letting his young son fight alien monsters on the regular because as much as he respected the Gems they from were two different worlds both trying to raise one boy.

He had other friends who were parents: Pete Fryman was a good guy, as was Barb but it wasn’t something relatable he felt like he could bring up with either of them. It was just too otherworldly.  Greg didn't admit it but sometimes flashes of terrible fates that could befall his son kept him up at night like an anxiety-inducing variant of Garnet's future vision. He couldn't live with himself if anything happened to Steven but then again didn't all parents feel this way?

Steven was just such a light in his life.  Heck, he _was_ Greg’s life some days. Other people looked at him and saw a forty something college dropout who lived in a van. Steven saw Guitar Dad! The musical hero Beach City needed. To Steven, Greg was a one-man band: a teacher, a sounding board, a storyteller, a provider. Greg cured hiccups and tied shoelaces. He banished nightmares and dished out cheesy catchphrases.

He was a portal to the time Rose was alive and everything was coloured pink with romance. He was the human half of Steven and he brought with it reality and grounding that then Gems really needed to hear sometimes. Greg was the first to admit it. Steven was the source of all the good in his life. His son was all he had. Steven was his whole family now.

 

* * *

 

**Evelyn Zhu**

Evelyn Zhu raised four daughters.  Each vibrant and different in their own right. Carmen the oldest was soft and deliberate, a perfectionist like her father she worked as a translator out of state but kept in touch with meticulous novel-length emails every week.

Sophia was loud and musical, a jazz-playing, always laughing little typhoon on legs well into her twenties. She was a force of nature that one, and to be completely honest Evelyn was slightly relieved they didn’t live under the same roof anymore because they fought head-to-head on every petty little issue.

Then came Isabelle who was firecracker smart and knew so, but God, she was so lazy! Evelyn and her husband had despaired when she announced with no room for argument that she was turning down her acceptance to the best college in the state to focus on her comic writing, working part time at a florist in the day.

Then there was their youngest. The most different of the bunch. Not at least because Evelyn’s youngest daughter was a son.  Lars was an enigma to her. A strange and fickle being that shared their house for near on eighteen years, yet she didn’t feel like she knew him at all. He was always so quiet, and maybe for other parents that’d be a great trait in a child, but with Lars it was almost, unsettling.

 Often she’d be in the kitchen clearing up, whistling to herself and in softly mumbled Mandarin a voice would ask her to put the jug on to boil. Evelyn couldn’t count how many times the boy had been stretched out at the kitchen table with his books and his school notes, branching out in multi-coloured pen and paper chaos across the tablecloth and she hadn’t even noticed he was in the room with her until he sneezed or coughed or spoke.

 It was like living with some silent little animal, and it earned him the family nickname, ‘mouse’.

Then there was this whole boy thing. Evelyn wouldn’t lie it had taken some getting used to and her relationship with Lars was anything but smooth. But she already had three daughters, a son was a welcome change. Besides, he was her son and she loved him no matter what.

 She was just glad to know something about her child’s life. His sisters always talked about school and friends or hobbies, Lars was the mouse, he told her nothing, showed her nothing.

Once she’d had some time to come to grips with the whole thing, learnt the name and the pronouns, she’d moved out all the old girly clothes into his sisters’ closets and offered to take him shopping for something more his style. (He'd put up a sulk about it but underneath it all his mother could tell he was grateful)

She’d even let him put those awful _things_ in his ears because the change of appearance had briefly blessed her with a smile.

If she was honest he was so much easier to get along with when he was living as himself, his depression loosened its shadowy grip around him, he was less moody, less quick with the sarcasm and rough wit. He fought less with Isabelle and he was finally starting to settle down, he'd got a part time job at the donut store and Evelyn even met some of his friends.

He started speaking up. Nothing world-shaking just a “I’m in the kitchen, Mama” or “I’m home” and Evelyn had to pretend the words didn’t make her chest soar and her face split in two with happiness. She strung her thank-yous and gratitude in every little sentence.

She would see him and nod, let out a quiet “Morning, _lăoshŭ_ ,” before breakfast in the hope he’d strike up a conversation _._   Every nod Lars made, every step forward to be part of the family, his mother was there to meet him with a small smile and an acknowledgement “Welcome back, _lăoshŭ_. I just made tea,” she’d say “How was work?” “Long and hot.” He tended to reply, or “Busy, today.” It wasn’t earth-moving in content or complexity but it meant the world to Evelyn.  Lars was trying.

* * *

**Priyanka Maheswaran**

The phone was ringing, her pager was going off the hook and Connie was butchering the last few bars of Bach’s Violin Concerto in A minor. Priyanka was used to chaos, some days it just seemed to follow her home.

She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder fumbling with the beeping pager until it silenced.  

“Maheswaran.” She barked into the phone, only to be met with a soft peal of surprised laughter.

 “It’s just me, Priya.” Came her sister’s cheery voice. “Is this a bad time, _jaan_? Should I call back?”

“No, _didi_. Don’t. It’s fine” She sighed not bothering to hold the exhaustion from her voice she moved down the hall into her study and shut the door behind her. “My pager was just buzzing.” She checked it dreading the message calling her back into work. Luckily it was just an update. It could wait. “Nothing urgent.” She said.

Divya’s smile was audible in her voice, she could picture it wry and curled up to one side. Her white teeth against warm brown skin.

She heard her sister wet her lips “I guess you don’t want me to ask how your day was?" she said.

Priyanka was out of Connie’s hearing range but she lowered her voice out of habit.  “It was shit, Divya. My day was absolute shit.” She sat down in the chair at Doug’s desk rubbing a bit of grit from under her eye.

“You go first then. My bit will wait”

Priyanka sighed again “You know about Doctor-Patient Confidentiality.  I can’t talk about specifics.” Her feet hurt, and an empty gurgling from her abdomen reminded her she’d forgone lunch.

“I know.”  said Divya all patience and big-sister concern. She didn’t elaborate any further though, waiting for Priyanka to go on.

Priyanka rested her face in the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. Her elbow resting on the desk next to a photo of Doug and Connie at Funland the previous Summer. They both looked happy, and so wonderfully alive. Priyanka shut her eyes tight, tried to ignore where that thought was heading.

“I lost a patient today, _didi_.” She murmured staring at the phosphenes that bloomed behind her eyelids “Traffic Accident. She had a daughter that survived. Little kid, maybe two or three years younger than Connie.”

There was a pause, a soft intake of breath on the line. “I’m sorry.”

Priyanka cleared her throat in frustration. “I’m sorry too, but I need to move on from it. It’s sad, yes, but it shouldn’t be a big deal anymore, you know? I’m being unreasonable. First day at med school they teach you leave your personal life at the door. Don’t take things like this home with you.”   

“You’re only human, Priya.” Her sister said, with a fervour in her voice. “Your job means you have to put aside certain emotions so you can help people fast without getting involved. Doesn’t mean you don’t have those feelings anymore. They’re bound to surface sooner or later.”

“Yes, I- I guess you're right.” She laughed softly, despite herself. “You're always right, aren't you?”

Her sister chuckled, rich and warm. “You know it."

"Anyway what were you calling for?"

They talked for a while about Divya’s family, her daughter Amrita and her upcoming wedding. Her son Sanjeev who was training to be an anaesthetist. Priyanka felt some of the guilt and the stress of the day slip away.

“Priyanka?” her sister said.

“Mm?”

“Put this away, go have a shower, go have dinner. Give Doug a kiss and hug my niece extra tight for me, _ji_?

“Yeah.” She sighed, rubbing her tired face again. “I plan to.”

You’re a fantastic doctor, _jaan_. But you don’t need to be doctoring 24/7. Remember how to be Priya for a bit. Dr Maheswaran can come back in the morning.”

"Okay, Divya. I think I can do that."

Priyanka hung up the phone, slightly dazed. The house was quiet for several minutes. Then came a soft knock at the door.

She lifted her head in the direction of the sound. “Yes?"

The door cracked open and Connie peered round it. “Hey Mom, who was on the phone?”

“Auntie Divya. Have you finished your violin practice?”

Her daughter nodded. “Yes, all done.”

“Is there any homework you need to finish?”

Connie shook her head. “I've done everything except the algebra homework because Dad said he'd help me with it when he gets home.”

“Can _I_ help at all?” She asked.

“No, Mom. Dad promised this morning, I'll be fine.” She shrugged her shoulders, unbothered.  

Priyanka chewed her lip, still a little disquieted “Right, right.”

Connie was staring at her waiting for further reply. “Um, are you okay?

She glanced at her daughter, concern on her pretty features. “What? Oh I'm fine, honey. I'm just tired from work. I'll make a start on dinner in a bit. I just wanted to rest my feet.”

“Okay, well would I be allowed to have Internet time now?”

Priyanka felt herself switch back into parental mode. “To do what exactly?” she asked, mouth set in a line.

Connie sighed. “To read the next chapter of a story I’m following.” She said.

“This one of those “fan fictions” that you like?” Priyanka asked.

“Uh yes. it's for unfamiliar familiar. That fantasy series.”

“Well, ok. But I'll be checking the rating.” Some of those online stories were vastly inappropriate for a young girl Connie's age and needed to be restricted.

“Yes, mom.”

“-And Sit at the table with your laptop, Connie. I don't want you hurting your back with bad posture.” She’d read an article recently about the increasing trend of kyphosis in young adults who used computers regularly. She wasn’t about to add her child to the statistics.  

“I will!” Connie said. 

“Oh and sweetheart?” Her sister’s words ringing in her ears. The face of the young girl she’d left at the hospital. She wasn’t Connie, but God, she could have been.

Connie turned back to her, slight annoyance on her face. “Yes?”

Priyanka bit down on the skin of her lip. Hard. She smiled and shook her head, exhausted. She didn’t have the words right now; any gushy sentiment would just come off as false.

 “It's nothing. I love you.”

Connie smiled, a little puzzled. “Love you too Mom.”

Priyanka leaned back in the office chair, eyes briefly resting on the picture on the desk.

She tried not to think about the events of the day. There was nothing else she could do for that girl. She decided to focus on Connie instead. There was plenty she could do to help her daughter succeed.

She cared about her daughter. She didn't think that was a crime.

* * *

 

**Pete Fryman**

Ronaldo had always had imaginary friends. “Plenty of kids do”, Eva had said, “Hell even I had them, don't stress so much about it, he's happy, that's what matters”. Pete had taken his wife's advice and paid no heed to the the fanciful tall tales his son spun. If anything he was impressed with his his creativity. He’d let the worry go.

 Then the years passed by rapidly as they were wont to do. Peedee was born, Eva changed jobs and they moved to Beach City.

 By the time Ronaldo was twelve there were just too many things Pete had noticed that didn't add up. Plenty of kids were scared of monsters under their beds but Ronaldo's didn't go away with the sunrise. Pete was sure that other kids were fussy eaters but Ronnie wouldn't eat anything with black on it, because it was poison.

Then there was his alien thing, first it came off as cute. Pete’s brother always made X-files jokes about it.

“What do you think about that, Mulder?” he'd say about some strange rock formation, and Pete would see the switch go off in his son’s head, his eyes light up and the clockwork machinations of his brain start to turn.

Pete hated it. It felt like he was mocking him, for things Pete knew Ronaldo had no control over, “Cut it out, Mark.” he'd snap “That's cruel.”    

Eva knew something was up too, he heard the fear and worry that snuck into her voice. Heard it in the soothing Portuguese she whispered into the boy’s golden curls when he came to her scared and in tears. Pete felt it as an edge, a defensive feeling. He felt the need to stick up for Ronaldo.

 His wife had no reason to be frightened it was just something they didn't understand that was all. Ronnie needed to see a doctor. It wasn’t demons or whatever her ingrained Catholic upbringing told her it was. He was sick.

The diagnosis came when Ronaldo was thirteen and starting high school. Schizoaffective. The word meant little to Pete and Eva, or even Ronaldo really but it gave them a name, a label for the little villain in their son’s head.

 Eva flung herself into researching it, familiarising herself with words like mania and paranoia, hallucinations and delusions. She tried her best, to listen to everything Ronnie had to say. Pete wasn't one really for talking this out. He was an easy-going guy but he had a business to run.

The boys were fifteen and ten respectively when their mother died.

 A car accident when she was back home, visiting her sisters in Brazil. It was a shock; these things always were.

The fact they hadn’t even been in the same country as her when it happened scraped raw in Pete’s chest. It was so isolating. He did his best to put Eva’s affairs in order, a handful of broken English conversations with family members, and him and the boys were on a plane to meet the aunts they’d never even seen before.

 Ronaldo was amazing on that trip; a kind of togetherness Pete had never seen in his eldest son before. Almost like a survival mode. He was calm to the point of robotic, He stuttered his way through his rusty Portuguese and translated for his father signs and advertisements, street names and posters.

When they returned back home, motherless, to Beach City Ronaldo was back to his paranoid, unpredictable self. Nevertheless, Pete recognised that he had managed to keep himself together for the briefest of moments when everyone else was falling apart, and he appreciated that more than he'd ever had words to express it.

He didn’t know how to return back to work but now he was all the income the family had and Ronaldo’s medication didn’t grow on trees.

They dealt with their grief in their own little ways. Peedee spent more time working with his father.  Ronaldo threw all his energy into his special interests, conspiracies and video games and obscure Korean TV dramas.

The kid took to special interests like bees took to flowers. It was anything but cheap too. He always wanted some new game or magazine and most recently he’d taken up the Theremin (despite his father’s grumbling that he’d already dished out for oboe lessons, not that long ago.)

Pete generally tried to keep to his son’s wishes.  Ronaldo was impressionable. If he heard what he wanted to hear he would believe anyone, and that was a naiveté his father wanted to protect. He needed looking after and Pete was the only parent he had left.

* * *

  **Vidalia Amberjack**

In retrospect she wished she picked a better name than Martin, but she'd been nineteen and far too romantic for her own good. She wished she'd been as detached and uncaring as her spiked collars and ripped fishnet aesthetic made her seem. It might have hurt less when he never called her back. As it happened it felt like barbed wire flowers springing up new and unruly in her guts, grazing her bones. Still, she survived.

It wasn't easy, it felt like her coal heart had squeezed and crushed and pressed until it spat out a diamond.  Then she picked herself up, newborn baby in arms, she'd bandaged the cuts and stemmed the pain and she’d thrown herself back at life, full force.

She'd carved herself a space to live and found her friends and her family. Reconnected with her parents and befriended the strange purple alien girl. She'd taken up the brush again in between bottle feeds and diaper changing. She created, she kept going.

Amethyst started hanging out with her more and more. She was intrigued by the baby

 “Hey Vi, Marty Jr. smells like off milk is that normal?” she’d said one day, the little boy sat upright in her lap,

“Amethyst, all babies smell like that.” Vidalia had laughed, brush poised in the air halfway to the canvas.

The gem snorted and shrugged. “Whatever, the only baby I know is this little blob of sour cream.”

The nickname had stuck, however ridiculous it seemed at the time.  It hurt less than any variation on Marty, and the kid deserved to be his own person. No need to keep a deadbeat hanging over him. Sour Cream was a good kid.

He’d been quiet at first and Vidalia had worried that she wasn’t giving him enough stimulation but time was scarce when you were simultaneously trying to raise a kid and sell your art to get by. They reached a revelation when Amethyst had put a CD on for the toddler and Sour Cream had loved it, little body bobbing and swaying to the music. “Woah, look at the little guy go!” Amethyst had said, laughing. After that Vidalia made a point to expose her son to as much music as possible.

She’d been twenty-eight when she met Yellowtail. Nine years wiser and more hardened than when she’d had Sour Cream. She’d been working in the market down by the docks. A part time job in between painting commissions and Yellowtail often came in to supply her boss with his fish.

He wasn't ever what she expected and maybe that was partly why she fell. He was quiet, extremely soft-spoken but always the perfect gentleman. She didn't expect a fisherman to harbour any appreciation of art but Yellowtail surprised her again. He was a weird one, some of his social skills rusty from extended periods spent completely alone on the sea. Vidalia liked weird. She liked it a lot.

They were together for two years before they finally married. They were already living together before they married so the wedding just felt like an excuse for a great party! A bit of a surprise to both his parents Onion came less than a year later.

Onion wasn't his first name either but the nicknaming had caught on in their family. Sour Cream came up with this one, he thought the baby's head resembled the vegetable and Vidalia couldn't pass up the glorious tackiness of referring to her boys as ‘Sour Cream and Onion’.

Onion was a particularly cute little baby, quiet but very sensitive to light and sound. He'd cry if there were more than two people talking, but seemed to enjoy the white noise of his brother practicing guitar from several rooms away.

Yellowtail's work meant he was away a lot during his son’s early development. Luckily for Onion, Vidalia had already raised one child by herself. She was made from iron now and she could handle whatever life threw at her. Onion didn’t start talking til he was three years old. Vidalia didn’t let it worry her, he made himself clear in his own little way. As long as he was healthy, anything else was just part of her son as far as she saw it.

Sour Cream was growing into a fine young man, his mother thought. He took to DJ-ing as hobby when he was fifteen and despite Yellowtail’s distaste Vidalia wanted to encourage the same creativity she exhibited, in her sons.

 Sour Cream had his music, Onion had his food sculpture. Nothing was too outlandish for her boys if it was something they enjoyed. Vidalia fell into a routine of parenting and painting, and not once did that deadbeat Marty cross her mind.

* * *

**Pearl**

There were so many things she had become now, that she wasn't made to be, but the one that surprised her the most everyday was that Pearl was a mother.  Sometimes she’d catch a glimpse of Steven doing something small and unremarkable, opening the fridge, listening to Garnet or Amethyst, or watching TV, and she’d be so overcome. This was her baby, Rose’s baby.

She was so enamoured now. She couldn’t bear to think of the week she spent alone, psyching herself up to loathe him. This impostor, this Rose-stealing parasite.

Then she returned home, and this soft little bundle of black curls was put in her arms. Pearl cried. Pearl apologised for forsaking her post. All she received in return was Greg’s arms around her and some tears on her shoulder. No punishment, just understanding.

She loved Steven, since the moment she met him. He was her duty now and she felt she knew why Rose put her on this path. Pearl was more of her own gem now than she’d ever been with Rose and that was all down to Steven.

Steven never knew a pearl as something to look down on, as a bauble or trinket to collect or discard. No, she was just a person, and a person very dear to him. She’d kissed his cuts and scrapes and told him stories from through human history, sparing _no_ details.

Pearl was the one Steven brought his ripped shorts and stained shirts to. She’d taught him how to change a tyre when he was eight years old because it seemed like it was important information for a human to know and Pearl cared about Steven’s intellect.

She had expected resentment. She had expected a full house of unworthy emotions. She’d been in love with this woman. She’d lived for her and now she was gone? But Pearl _couldn’t_ hate Steven, she wasn’t strong enough to go against Rose’s wishes. Instead she loved and loved and kept loving and eventually the wounds began to close over and scar.

A child like sunlight filled the cracks where Rose used to hide. Victories and Stratagems became Birthdays and Milestones. Pearl became domestic, she became soft and casual. She found herself hanging out washing and pinning drawings to the fridge. As far from on object of decoration as a Pearl could be and she loved every minute of it.

 She couldn’t honestly say anymore that she wanted her love back, in place of Steven. There was no in place of Steven, not anymore. It simply didn’t work that way.

She had loved Rose. She had lived her every waking moment, for her. In her death that love did not dwindle or diminish. Pearl would hold Rose in her heart until her gem was nothing but dust. But now she had Steven to adore. It wasn’t the same, of course. No two loves were alike but it filled a void.

Steven gave her a well-roundedness, a truer sense of self then his mother- Stars rest her- had ever done.

Some days Pearl looked at this boy, thirteen years old now, with Rose’s patience and Greg’s love of music and just for a second, in a smile or a nod, Pearl could see herself reflected in him.  

* * *

 

**Garnet**

Gems didn't have parents, but Garnet, of course, was no regular gem. Steven liked to joke that Ruby and Sapphire were Garnet’s ‘tiny moms’ and she could appreciate how he saw it that way. Children were a more permanent human version of fusion of which Steven was a living breathing example. Not quite Rose and not quite Greg.  Steven was his own being, and like Garnet he was made of love.  

Garnet's relationship with Rose Quartz had been one of many facets. A leader and her soldier, a friend and a comrade. But there was another relationship unique to Rose and Garnet: one of complete acceptance, a mother and her adopted daughter. Rose felt love so keenly for everything every new organism she met and Garnet was a fusion of pure and intense love between two gems, a one of a kind.

When she first met Rose she had been so new, so uncoordinated, but she knew her name, and her feelings. She was Garnet, and no gem on earth or on Homeworld could ever rend her apart. Rose smiled at the fire in her eyes and the bare honesty of her words, and she’d taken in this love fusion, this traitor, this abomination, and Rose Quartz had adored her.

Garnet was the first to know about Rose Quartz’s planned departure. She’d seen Steven before Rose was even certain he could exist. Garnet had warned her. “You’ll die.” She’d murmured, veins running cold with ice as her component gems deliberated over the implications of her vision.

“Not really.” Rose had said. Wiping the tears that slipped down the fusion’s cheek with a soft pink thumb. “I wouldn’t be me anymore, true enough. But the child would carry my gem. They will be another version of me, but a version that is half a human being.”

Galaxies had sparkled in her leader’s eyes and Garnet noticed the slip in tense and felt her decision become firmer, something real, something truly possible.

“He.” Said Garnet, more collected now. She looked down at the gems on her palms and took Rose’s soft hands in her own. “Your son will carry your gem and you will be gone.”

“A son?” Said Rose, the smile on her face one of pure wonder. “ _Oh_.” She shook her beautiful pink curls.  “Nonetheless Garnet, that is years away from now. Don’t trouble yourself over this.”

“How can we not, Rose? We look to you for guidance. Even now when the rebellion is years past, we can’t be without your direction. No one can connect with the humans like you do, not Pearl or Amethyst nor us.”

“Us?” Rose frowned, fingers lightly caressing the reddish gems. One triangular, one square cut. “Do not let my affairs upset you Garnet. This is my decision to bear.”

“Yes, my quartz.” The fusion’s voice turned monotone, her visor shone blue. Diplomatic response completely automatic by now.

“Garnet.” She said gently. She squeezed her fingers softly.  “I’ve been telling for you for centuries now, just Rose is fine.” 

Garnet’s eyes were obscured by her visor but they stared downwards at the temple floor’s smooth purple crystal. Already she felt like she was losing something so central to what it was that made her Garnet. She was losing her mother.  

“I trust your leadership. W- _I_ need some time to reflect on this.”

“I understand, Garnet.” She said, releasing Garnet’s hands finally. She tucked a stray bubblegum curl back behind her ear. “I’d also appreciate your discretion.”

Garnet nodded, she drew her fingers across her lips in a zip. A gesture she’d picked up from Greg.

 “Please, Rose. When you do tell the others… give them space. I can see…” She sighed, the vision was fuzzy and not set in certainty but it was important to tell her.  “They will forgive you but they will need space and some time to process it. Respect that.”

Pink curls bobbed up and down. “I will, thank you. I appreciate your insight on this.” Rose bowed her head in a final acknowledgement. “I’ll leave you to your meditations, then.”

When Rose left her in her room that day, Garnet was overcome with a peculiar sensation. She felt… _alone_. She didn’t know if the feeling was meant for now or the future.

When Steven was born Rose Quartz’s absence was a gaping wound. Greg grieving and lost as the Gems themselves, now had a motherless baby to attend to. Pearl disappeared for an entire week. Amethyst was too young to take any real responsibility. No, it was Garnet who drew herself together. Soothing her mourning components calm, Garnet reached inside herself for Rose’s love and Rose’s patience and she’d welcomed the rising sun with visorless eyes. She approached the exhausted young man, sat on the temple steps, a crying infant wriggling in his arms.

“Please let me take him for a while, Greg, you need rest.” She had murmured and taken baby Steven gently from his father.

“Hello, little one.” Garnet smiled, suffused with adoration.  “You have a bright future ahead of you.”

* * *

 

**Steven Universe**

The Gems told him that she was in everything.  he looked for her features in the mirror when he brushed his teeth. Was that his mom hiding in his soft cheeks or button nose? Did he get his eyes from her or his dad? Connie looked like both her parents but Steven couldn't see either his dad or the legendary Rose Quartz in his reflection. All he knew was Steven.

If only he knew more about her. He pieced together a patchwork quilt of facts and stories, anecdotes and dates and pictures. At night if he couldn't sleep he'd drag his covers down the steps and sit on the kitchen floor staring at her portrait.

He wished he missed her, and in a sense he did. He was aware of her absence but it wasn't missing her not really. He saw what that looked like: Pearl’s bony frame folded up and in on itself, the grief staining her skin. A shimmery wetness on her cheeks. He'd seen the raw heartache on the Gem’s face then. “What must you think of me now?” She’d said, but nothing had changed between them.

He loved Pearl, and you didn't stop loving someone just because they were sad or hurting. That wasn't how it worked. He didn't need to know his mother to tell her that.

Some days when it was raining, the Gems were busy and Connie had a violin lesson Steven would creep into her room empty and pink “Show me, my Mom. Show me Rose Quartz.” He would whisper out into the nothing.

 The woman the room conjured up was beautiful and she was big, but she was made of clouds and all she could say was the same prerecorded spiel she'd left for him on her videotape. The room couldn’t sufficiently replicate the lilt of her voice or her smile. It told him nothing about his mother that the Gems hadn't already told him a million times. It felt so lonely.

It seemed like everyone else had some understanding of who his mother was, he just wanted to talk to her. Just once to introduce himself and thank her for being his mom. Maybe if she'd let him he'd ask her why she made the decision to leave. As far as he knew she didn't have any future vision. He couldn't tell if she knew for sure Steven would turn out like he did. He might have been a really mean kid!  Why was Rose so certain in her videotape that he was going to be wonderful?

 Steven thought about this some more, he thought about growing up with his Dad. He remembered singalongs on the beach and making s'mores on the camping stove in the back of the van. The tiny cramped little house they lived in together before he moved in with the gems.

 His dad always taught him to be the best he could be, but not to be ashamed of mistakes. After all, “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn't have hot dogs.” His Dad had a catchphrase for every occasion.

Then there were the Gems, Stars above, Steven loved the Gems. Growing up with three alien mother figures may seem strange to others, it wasn’t - what had Connie called it? - a nuclear family. But each gem was a part of his childhood in a different way.

 Amethyst used to tell him bedtime stories when he couldn’t sleep and Greg had gone back to the van. She did all the voices just right and hardly ever stuck to the words in the books so they never once ended the same way. It was Steven’s favourite part of falling asleep. Amethyst was more like a really cool big sister than a Mom to Steven. She wasn’t bound by silly things like morality and decorum like her comrades. Amethyst and Steven were the best team for pranks.

Garnet was always there to listen to him blab on about cartoons or video games or his adventures on the beach. Now he knew about future vision he imagined some of this time she was busy scanning for different potential outcomes, but when he was little he thought Garnet only had ears for him, and that made him feel important. She was a good mother too, was Garnet. She generally let him do things if he asked nicely and she always took his suggestions to heart.

 Finally, there was Pearl who was the most traditionally mom-like, of the three of them. She didn’t enjoy eating or food herself yet, for Steven, she taught herself how to cook, and not just grilled cheese either. Pearl could list the breakdown of every vitamin needed in human nutrition and she knew how Steven liked his toast cut into triangles and how he hated celery unless she cut it up really small.

Pearl was always an audience for Steven, like Garnet. Pearl tended to overreact to things though. She was always proud of him no matter how seemingly small the achievement Pearl would be there cheering him on.

He knew. He understood why his mother expected him to be great. This was more a matter of nurture than of nature. He had Garnet’s patience, Pearl’s adoration and Amethyst’s spontaneity. He had Greg’s everything.

 Surely, his mother had wanted the best for him that’s why she left with such a wonderful family in the Gems and his Dad. Still, some days Steven couldn’t help but feel Rose Quartz’s absence.

 


End file.
